A time of troubles

[Tom Foolery]

The son is shining in a cloudless blue sky as the birds sing this festive morning. The people of Sandpoint have been looking forward to this day for months. The marketplace has been gayly decorated and the booths and contests have been set up ready to amuse and delight the crowds. The acrobats and tumblers have begun to stretch in the early light of the day. The jugglers are double checking their equipment and fire breathers are preparing their torches. The hawkers and traders fortune tellers are setting up their stalls and soon the people of the town will be flocking to the square. For this day, for this day of days. The day that the new temple is consecrated!

[GranAures]

"This boring, Tuk want to watch firedancers," the goblin grumbles from atop a barrel in the square. Given the amount of outside traffic, Tuk was required to wear his cloak while out and about, a bulky human sized article that had been cut short to lessen the goblin's odds of tripping and had a length of wire run through the hood so that it wouldn't fall down over his eyes. Thankfully the hood of his cloak still allowed for Tuk to wear his cap over it, giving the locals a clear idea as to whom was underneath it.

With little to do before the consecration, Tuk pulls out his pistol, Scrapper, and begins tinkering with the firearm in boredom. Anything he can think to do to dote on the gun he does, from straightening the horns along the back of the barrel to tightening down the "face" of the gun, a dwarven belt buckle of a goblin head with a hole worked through where the mouth would be.

[Mr. Turniphead]

In the dining room of the Rusty Dragon Inn, Finch idly sipped away at a cup of coffee, savoring the drink. It was quite good, everything in the inn seemed to be. She slept like a rock last night and was letting the comfortable warmth of her drink seep into her limbs.

The Galten rose from her seat, thumbing up her hat as she did so. Fishing into her belt pouch for a few coppers, she dropped the coins onto the table before heading out of the inn.

The bustling square at the center of town drew the wayward mercenary in, and she took to wandering about as the various attractions were set up.

Huh, well the townies go all out around here don't they? she thought with some amusement as she finally settled against the side of a building to observe.

[tresson]

It had been a long journey to reach sandpoint and the dust of the road had been worse then normal. The trip had left Serra feeling tired and dirty to her core. Which is an achivement for a cleric of Calistra. A hot bath with a strong brush and then good night sleep on a passable bed left her feeling closer to her normal self.

In the morning she had a passable breakfest toast and eggs. Dressed in her clerical robes as decorum demanded but she wore chainshirt under her robes because there is always someone who takes exception to her and her advice. After fasting her whip to her hip and her dagger in her wrist sheath she was on her way to the market square.

She found herself a shady tree on the edge of the square. She sat down and waited for the unmarried women that needed advice on attractive men and the married women whose men had stray.

[Griffith!]

SEVEN

Seven wanders the market, a vague, puzzled look on his face. Odd, he considers, such gaiety over so mundane a thing. These humans, he would never understand, try though he might. It defied logic, the things they would do.

Take the performers, for instance. What purpose could such colors and tools serve? Surely nothing of function or use. He silently put it down to the phenomenon they continually called "emotion" and turned his mind to more productive tasks - conjugating verbs in Thassilonian, translating them to Elven, and then back again.

Unconsciously, his fingers tightened over the spine of his spellbook, and he froze in his tracks. What is the elvish word for "feel"?

[drayen]

Clad in furs, and little else, Björn walks down the cheery little lane towards the tavern the locals call "Hagfish".

"You thar!" The hirsute man giant bellows to a shopkeeper hanging paper lanterns outside his store. "Var be da 'agfeesh?"

[Saburo]

Ishani watches from the balcony of her uncle's home, idly twirling a Harrow deck card in her fingers. The festival crowds mill below in the street. Despite the frivolity, music, and food filling the town of Sandpoint, the Varisian woman looks thoroughly uninterested.

Gods, I am bored. I hope this town gives me some distraction. It has been unbearable since leaving Magnimar.

[Mr. Turniphead]

A wry grin crept onto Adelaide's features as she killed time in the town square. Her eyes flitted about, settling on people of interest as they went about their business. Several caught her eye in particular, a beautiful priestess of some sort went swaying by, a whip fastened securely within reach. As well as a large man in furs whose rough appearance compelled Finch to lower the brim of her hat to avoid eye contact.

The two of them didn't surprise her as much as the Goblin across the way however. When the Galten laid eyes on the diminutive creature she reflexively reached for one of her knives. Blinking owlishly in surprise when one of the townsfolk very visibly noticed the little green man and simply continued on her way.

'Now THAT is a sight,' the mercenary thought, relaxing her grip on the hilt of her knife. 'Can't believe that little bugger's allowed within a league of those fireworks.'

Finch watched him for a few moments before deciding that the town wasn't going to suddenly burst into flame because of his presence and idly fished out her flute. The musicians in the square were still warming up, so she decided to entertain herself.

Not playing for coins or anything, but here's a performance check! [roll0]